


Spotted

by AquaWolfGirl



Series: Aqua's Caltrilla Fics [2]
Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Cam's abs inspired this fic, Exhibitionism, F/M, Voyeurism, a bit angsty in some places, a bit unhealthy? but not too much i promise, absolute filth, perhaps a bit OOC you've been warned, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: The little Jedi has a habit of surprising her. Between managing to survive on Zeffo, killing more troops than she assumed possible, and showing he's a quick learner, she's learned to expect the unexpected with Cal Kestis. Seeing just how being a scrapper has done his body good, however, was very unexpected... and she's going to use it to her full advantage.A little PWP because wow, Cameron's significantly more ripped than I expected and of course I had to do something inspired by it.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Series: Aqua's Caltrilla Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706914
Comments: 13
Kudos: 188





	Spotted

**Author's Note:**

> Is this shameless self-indulgence? Perhaps. But it's FUN (if not a little OOC) self indulgence. I'm going to fill every cliche fanfiction trope with these two if it kills me, and we're going to start off with a little voyeurism. 
> 
> This was fun to write, even though it may be a little out of character, but then again PWPs between enemies rarely are. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It’s approaching the point in the hunt where her fellow Inquisitors are asking her if it’s worth it.

Wouldn’t it be easier to trap him? To give the little Jedi a false lead, to convince him about yet another ancient tomb, to trick him as she had back on Zeffo? It would be so easy, the padawan eager to please, eager to follow the path of other Force users, eager to be someone and do _something_ to save the galaxy.

Yes. She will admit that it would be easier. But Zeffo was not a trap. Zeffo was a test. And, despite her reservations, he passed.

_Outstanding._

The truth of the matter is that playing with him in an uncontrolled environment is significantly more fun than playing with him in a controlled environment, which is exactly what will happen if she traps him. Would he be hers? Oh, yes, he would. But he’d be predictable.

And she doesn’t want that, not one bit.

Which is why Trilla’s currently walking through the plains of some backwater planet. Her TIE left behind, she continues on foot towards the lilac-colored trees ahead. Cordova liked his research, apparently. And his obscure tombs.

She can smell the strong, heady scent of the flora around her even through the respirator of her mask. The trees are thin and close together, the trunks a pale purple and the trailing branches darker, small purple leaves the size of her thumbnail clinging to the thin vine-like tendrils.

The floral smell only gets stronger when she slices through several trees in order to clear her way. The branches are tangled together higher than she can cut, the severed trunks remaining in the air even after yet another vicious slice. She decides quickly it’s not worth the time or energy, and turns to slip through the narrow spaces between the trees.

Besides, it could be beneficial. Give him more time. Let him think he is safe here. Let him think he has escaped her grip.

The further Trilla goes into the forest, the softer the ground becomes. Eventually she’s stepping through mud, each step a struggle and resulting in a disgusting, wet sound every time she lifts her foot.

Perhaps it is time to consider ending this, after all.

It’s the sound of his laughter that surprises her. It’s difficult to tell where the sound is coming from, the many trees distorting the sound. But it’s very distinctively a chuckle, before there’s a “Hey, stop that!” and the trill of the BD unit. Cheerful. Playful.

Interesting.

She’s now grateful for how close the trees are, because despite the need to twist her body this way and that to get through them, they cover her as she approaches what looks to be a clearing. As she gets closer, it becomes apparent why she’s been stepping through soft mud. She can hear the gentle roaring of a small waterfall, can just see through the trees to the green-tinged-watered pool ahead, and the naked Jedi standing in it.

It doesn’t take much mental effort to see what happened. Between the distinct muddy channel on the hill just across the pool, and the pile of clothes that he abandoned on a rock to dry, it appears he went the other way around. The longer, slicker, steeper way. A loss of footing, and here he is, rinsing the sticky mud from his clothes and his skin.

How clumsy. How predictable.

He hasn’t noticed her yet. She’s almost disappointed in his lack of awareness, his skills not quite as honed as she would hope, but it means she can watch for a few moments more. And oh, she’s enjoying watching.

His time as a scrapper on Bracca did his body a great service. She doubts his torso was so defined back during his training. Though physical training is a part of every Jedi’s journey, it’s the hard labor of Bracca that made the V of his hips look like it was carved from him. She watches as water drips down between his pecs, down the muscles of his abdomen, down to a cock emerging from ginger curls.

Of course, all of that is heavily contrasted by the splashing contest he’s currently having with the damn droid, his laughter echoing oddly through the thin trees as BD-1 squirts water back at him.

So unaware. So unprepared, his lightsaber near his clothes. It would be so easy to pull it towards her, to call it into her hand and leave him entirely unarmed.

But … not yet.

The Jedi prohibited physical relationships. The Empire does not. She can appreciate a fine body when she sees one, and this one is fine indeed. Especially when he bends over to dip his hair into the water, his pale ass tight and fit, no doubt from bending and crouching and squatting constantly in the scrap yard. Trilla hums lowly, the sound coming out as a buzz through her moderator as she braces one hand against a tree, chancing a step closer as he comes back up from the water. Fingers running through his hair, he grins at the droid, carefree.

It would be a pity to disturb his peace, especially when she’s getting such a fine show.

Ah, well.

She ignites her saber for dramatics only. It’s delicious, the way he scrambles, calling his saber to him. She lets him, if only to have the image of him bare, brandishing his blue blade as he gets into stance, the water lapping just above his knees.

“Disappointing,” she calls, walking through the trees to the pebbled bank. Her boots crunch over the small rocks, the sound louder than the small waterfall’s roar. “Your lack of awareness.”

“How long were you there?” he demands, muscles tight with tension, cheeks flushed, chest pink too.

Oh, now isn’t that precious?

“Long enough,” she teases.

It is her duty as in Inquisitor to wipe out the Jedi. And yes, she has killed several, padawans and masters alike. But he … he’s the most fun she’s had in a while. There’s a brightness to him that the others didn’t have. A cockiness and confidence that she can’t quite tell the truth of.

It would be terrible to kill him like this, bare-assed and cock out even as he backs further into the water in a vain attempt to give himself a bit more cover. Dignified death? Just the opposite.

No, he won’t die today.

But perhaps…

Her helmet hits the small beach. The smell of flora becomes almost nauseatingly strong, rich and sweet as she deactivates her saber.

“I have to admit,” she starts, “Your days as a scrapper. They did you a favor, hm?”

“A favor,” Cal repeats, skeptical.

She takes her time looking him up and down, his every muscle flexed. He adjusts his stance, legs spread a little wider to keep from slipping against the pool’s slick bottom. She can see several silvery-pale-pink scars, no doubt from something at the scrap yard going awry. A pity to see such gorgeous skin marred. No matter, though. He’s still lovely to look at.

“I won’t kill you today,” she croons, looking back up to meet his eyes. Or maybe she won’t kill him ever. Perhaps she’ll just keep him, keep that pretty body all to herself. But for now… “Unless you have an objection to that?”

His blade is still live, still buzzing. He doesn’t move further into the water, instead staying where it’s at his waist, his stance still defensive even as she steps closer. “No. No objection,” he says, his tone wary as he finally deactivates his weapon.

BD-1 is hovering near the rocks, crouching low and pressing back against one as she walks by the droid to the edge of the water. It laps at her boots, the leather darkening as she stands and considers the Jedi. He would be gorgeous in the black of the Empire, so stark against his pale skin and red hair.

But that would mean the hunt would have to end. And besides, there’s a holocron at the end of this. There’s a way to earn both him and the holocron, yes, of course there is. But it’s so much easier to let him do the dirty work, and take advantage of what’s already been done for her.

She won’t kill him today. She won’t take him today, either.

Claiming him as hers, though... Now there’s an idea.

He keeps his lightsaber in hand as she moves to undo her belt. He says nothing, green eyes watching warily as she unlatches it.

“If you want no part of this, I suggest saying so now,” she says, holding his gaze as she moves up to unclasp the front part of her uniform.

“Would be easier to tell if I want a part in it if I knew what _‘this’_ is,” he replies. He wades closer, though, and she’ll give him credit for that. Bravery? Stupidity? Both, more than likely. Curiosity? Definitely.

“Guess,” Trilla purrs, letting the top part of her uniform slip down her arms and fall alongside her helmet. “I know I’ve plagued your thoughts, Cal Kestis. The question I want answered is just how I’ve plagued them.”

“Who said you have?” he bites back. “I have better things to think about.”

“Oh? Like finding ways out of decrepit tombs build by dead species?” she asks. “Like wondering which backwater planet that inept Jedi master is going to send you next?”

“Like what I’m going to teach my padawans,” he says, the words coming out with more force than she anticipated. He’s serious?

She has to laugh at that, the sound ringing across the pond and through the trees, echoing back hollowly. “Your padawans?” she asks. “You’re going to train them? Master Kestis, hm?”

Oh, that does something. She can see the flush of his cheeks, the way the pink spreads down his pale collarbones to his pectorals.

It’s telling, truly. That despite how good he seems, despite how willing he is to run right back to the Jedi and all of their ancient, restrictive ideas, there is something in the idea of being a Master that calls to him. And though she may be wrong, it’s perhaps the idea of power that he finds so appealing. The idea of having some sort of control over others.

What a delightful concept…

She reaches back to undo her breast band, watching as he stills entirely, frozen like a statue as he stares directly at her chest. She has to wonder if he had anyone during his five years on Bracca. It’s not exactly known for its beautiful people, but she can’t imagine he didn’t seek the comfort of human company, the thrill of pleasure in all his time there. Still, his reaction to her bare chest once the breast band is pulled away is delicious, the way his hand grips his lightsaber and the way he starts to harden, visible even beneath the water.

“What are you doing?” he demands as she slides her pants down her legs, pulling her boots off and stepping bare into the water. His lightsaber reignites, his stance resumed as she steps closer. The water laps at her ankles, then her calves, then her knees.

“Testing something,” she purrs. He doesn’t move back, instead holding that damned position. She can hear his breathing, quick and nervous, as her hand reaches up to cover where his fingers are clenched around the lightsaber hilt, knuckles white. He does nothing, doesn’t move, just watches her as she slips her fingers between his to turn it off, the blade deactivating. She can feel the warmth of his skin, her gloves abandoned on the shore as well, the contrast between their skin lovely to her.

He’ll mark gorgeously with that pale flesh.

He has had plenty of opportunity to go. It’s not as though she trapped him. The pool has many sides, she stood on just one of them. It was his decision to stay, to stand and watch her as she undressed, to let her walk forward to him.

“This is your chance to leave,” she warns. “You could go and explore that tomb for me, hm?”

“I could,” Cal admits. “Can’t make a decision without knowing all the options, though. That’s option one.” He licks his lips. Nervous, but wanting. “I still don’t know what option two is. Want to enlighten me?”

This is why she enjoys him. Those she killed either begged for their life, or kept silent, or spat back the ways of the Jedi in her face, speaking of honor and unity and light. He doesn’t. He teases her, too.

She smirks. Her hand reaches out and touches his hip, her fingers tracing along that gorgeous, defined line. The water is warm, his skin warmer as he keeps his eyes on hers. There’s no reaction from him, not visibly. She can hear the hitch of his breath, though, and that’s enough for her.

“You know what option two is,” she insists.

“Don’t think I do.”

She doesn’t normally kiss. The last man she had in her bed back on Nur used his mouth in other ways, but never pressed it against hers. And she was more than fine with that. Kissing is more intimate than she’s willing to go, most of the time. But this little Jedi, with his pink lips and the scar across them, the way he looks down to her lips as she tilts her head…

Ah, there it is.

His hair is damp, cool against her fingers as she slides her hand behind his neck and pulls him in. He doesn’t put up resistance, but he doesn’t move into it, either. At least, not at first. Not until she pulls his lower lip between her teeth and bites down. Not hard, not enough to bleed, but enough for a reaction.

And a reaction she gets.

Always doing the unexpected, this little Jedi. Surviving her troops on Zeffo. Learning quickly, even with a master who’s cut herself off from the force. Being a better fighter than she could have predicted.

He’s certainly full of surprises, and it seems he’s full of even more as he grabs her hip hard enough to bruise, the other arm coming up around her back after push-throwing his lightsaber to the edge of the pool. To be in his arms is to be wrapped in a durasteel beam. To see the strength of him is one thing. To feel it is another completely as he decides to kiss her back, for whatever reason.

Another surprise - he’s not so inexperienced as she would have expected. To kiss like he does, there must have been someone on Bracca. She’s had partners who thought passion meant sloppiness, much to her disgust. Cal kisses as though to consume. There isn’t any biting like she utilized, but there is a bit of sucking on her lower lip. Uncalled for, but appreciated.

Yes, to kill him would be a terrible mistake, though it's her duty. The way he groans against her mouth as she lifts her arms to wrap around his neck, the way he brings her against him as though to make them one, the way he grabs at her, desperate…

He’s halfway hard against her thigh, the garbled, guttural groan that leaves his lips one of the most satisfying sounds she’s ever heard. To feel him buckle, to feel him come apart from her touch, not just her blade … oh, yes, that’s _fantastic._

There’s a taunt on the tip of her tongue, something about Tapal and what would he say about his padawan letting an Inquisitor stroke his cock… but something makes her stay silent, and instead she surges in to kiss him again. He responds beautifully, his hand coming to her jaw, cupping her cheek. The pads of his fingers are rough, a scrapper’s hand if she’s ever felt one, so different from those who’ve touched her before, their hands always covered in black gloves like hers. She almost prefers the callouses. It adds to the intensity that is apparently Cal Kestis.

His other hand roams up and down her body, from her ass slipping up the small of her back to her shoulders. She’s heard about his abilities, his psychometry. To touch is to connect with the Force in a way few others can. It’s unclear whether he can sense from the living, but regardless, his hands move as though to memorize.

“You’re enjoying this,” she whispers, her voice dripping in self-satisfaction as she feels him harden in her grip. The hand that was touching her back comes around and up, and she has to keep the hitch in her breath from being too audible as he touches her breast. It’s hesitant, almost, the way his fingers stroke the underside before his thumb brushes against her nipple. “A true Jedi denies all passion, all need, all attraction… I suppose that means you’ll never be a true Jedi.”

She expects him to say something, or push her away. She’d braced herself for the feeling of flying backwards, but it never comes. Instead he pulls her in for another kiss, this one more intense than the first few. He damn near devours her, as though to make her point even more. Deny all passion? He’d show her passion.

_Yes, good. Give into it._

He’s pretty, she’ll give him that. Pretty face, pretty lips, pretty torso, pretty cock. She would be the envy of all the Inquisitors if she were to take him as hers. Not yet, though. Soon, but not yet.

It’s interesting that he’s letting her do this. Letting her hold his most vulnerable part in her hand, letting her touch him like this. It would be so easy to cause pain, to make him cry out in anguish. But she much prefers his groans, the way his hips cant into her hold, the way he’s bracing his brow against hers, his breath hot against her lips as she twists her fingers and feels him come apart just that much more.

She moves her head, dipping down to scrape her teeth against his shoulder. He bucks, obviously deprived, and she smirks, nipping at that pale skin. Will it redden? Will it bruise? Will he bear the marks for hours, days, a week? Oh, she’ll have to check, the next time they find each other on some backwater planet with a tomb containing one more tiny piece of the puzzle that is Cordova’s journey.

Which means they’ll have to do this again.

_Wonderful._

He seems to think he has some sense of control in this situation, because before she can sink her teeth into his shoulder to leave her mark, his fingers are slipping through her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her up for another kiss. She lets him, this time, because she finds she enjoys kissing him. She enjoys the buzz of his moan against her lips as she tightens her grip on him, testing just how long he can last. If he doesn’t last, then so be it. If he does, she’ll be impressed. But with the way he’s rolling his hips, the way his entire body seems to shudder against hers, he’s not going to last much longer.

Deprived, truly, of passion and pleasure.

She’ll fix that.

“Look at you,” she croons, pulling back just enough to look at his face. His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Absolutely gorgeous. “Coming apart for me, hm? Giving in to passion, desire, everything the Jedi was against, letting an Inquisitor bring you the greatest pleasure-”

“Shut up.”

He defies her expectations yet again, the two words hissed harshly before he’s kissing her again, his rough fingers tangling in her hair. He’s close, cock twitching in her grip, slick with pre-release and the water from the pool. He pants against her mouth as she quickens her pace, thumb teasing the head. It’s not long before he comes apart entirely, and she feels the sticky-slickness of his release coating her hand.

She knows of the art of denying release. Of letting need linger and buzz, the terrible mix of pain and pleasure that comes with waiting. And yes, she could have teased him, she could have denied him such satisfaction, could have been truly cruel. But this is better. Letting him live with the shame that he was just jacked off by a killer of Jedi.

The bottom of the pond is slick beneath her feet as she goes to step away. She lets her hand trail in the water, rinsing the evidence of his pleasure from her skin. The deed done, her mission, her mark on him and his mind accomplished, she moves to go.

He doesn’t let her.

His hand finds her wrist, pulling her right back into him. This kiss is the best so far, eager and almost desperate, rough as he presses his hand to the small of her back, fingers spreading across bare skin.

“You,” he whispers, “you need it, too.”

“Do I?” she asks, raising a dark brow at him. “And what do I need, exactly?”

“You think I can’t feel it?” he asks. “Because I can.”

It’s something with his pyschometry. At least, that’s the most logical explanation. She smirks, letting her lips barely brush against his.

“Then give me what you _think_ I need, Cal Kestis.”

He’s kissed before, that much is certain. And apparently he’s felt someone on Bracca, because he knows exactly where to slip his hand. Granted, it’s not entirely complex, but his touch isn’t hesitant. He knows somewhat what he’s doing.

He keeps his hand on her back, keeping her close, as though she’ll pull away at any moment. She wonders just how much of him wants to do this, and how much is because he was taught about balance. Light, and dark. His pleasure, her pleasure.

He finds her clit damn near immediately, destroying any thought of him being still somewhat innocent. Good. He’s more ruined than she thought. He gave up hope on ever being a Jedi, it seems, cast the ideals and restrictions aside in favor of carnal pleasure back on Bracca.

It’s better than she’d hoped.

Usually she isn’t standing up for this sort of thing. Usually she’s kneeling over whatever partner she’s decided on, letting them touch her within some boundaries. This is different. She can’t let him know her knees damn near buckled as soon as his thumb went round her clit. She can’t let him know just how good his fingers brushing at her entrance feel. She moves to wrap her arm around his neck, pressing herself against him, moving to brush her lips against his pulse. Letting him believe she just wanted closer, instead of needing his support to stand upright.

He likes to take his time, apparently. This isn’t something frenzied. There’s that same desperation she’s now used to in the way he mouths at her shoulder, but the way his thumb circles her clit is slow, steady. His fingers are spread across her back. She has to wonder if his psychometry is playing a part, or whether he’s just doing what he’s used to with whatever others he’s been with.

When two of his fingers finally, finally slip inside of her, she rewards him with a bite. He hisses, bucking his hips, softened cock brushing against her thigh as his fingers slip even deeper. The stretch is delicious, as is the soft, hissed, “Kriff,” that comes from his lips as he tries to regain his balance. She’d waited until his fingers were inside of her to actually bite, to mark him as _hers_ , because to pull out now? It would be laughable, really. He’s already inside of her. They’ve already come this far. She sucks hard, bites hard, until there’s the metallic tang of blood against her tongue.

He curls his fingers, and her nails dig into his back. He hisses again, no curse this time, but he turns his head, seeking out her lips for another kiss. She obliges, letting him taste the bitterness of his own blood as his pace quickens slightly. 

She’s not loud. She won’t give him that satisfaction. But it’s impossible not to react in some sort of way when his fingers are moving the way they are, curling inside of her and quick to the point of being audible, the slickness of her and the sound of it almost mortifying. Her own body’s betrayed her.

Then again, she’s used to betrayal, isn’t she?

It’s been a while since she’s indulged, even in her own touch. She’d forgotten how wonderful it feels, the build up, the crest, the resulting warmth and looseness. The way every single muscle tenses before relaxing, the bone-deep satisfaction that comes afterwards. If he wanted something dramatic and obvious to soothe his soul, to reassure himself that he’d brought balance, he doesn’t get it. Instead he gets nails scratching his back deep enough to draw blood, a low groan followed by a soft sigh, and absolutely soaked fingers.

She would have thought he’d rip his fingers from her, rush to the shore, pull on his clothes and get a head start to the temple before she can follow him. But it doesn’t happen like that. He slips his fingers from her only after a few more tentative strokes, stoking the fire one more time before it goes out entirely. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of feeling her shudder, but it happens before she can make a conscious effort to stop it. She feels his fingers curl along her back, knuckles brushing down her spine, ghosting along the curve of her ass as he kisses her just one more time.

The desperation in it lingers as he pulls his fingers from her. She can hear the sound of him rinsing them off in the pool, the delicate sound of the water as he moves his hand through it. He still tastes like his blood, his lower lip stained with it when he pulls back from her with a gentle _smack_. The way he’s staring at her…

There’s softness, there. Awe. Need.

That wasn’t part of the plan. She was counting on disgust, shame, self-loathing.

She has to pull away.

The pebbles of the shore feel sharp against her feet after feeling mud between her toes for the past few … moments? Minutes? Hours? How long has she been with him?

“I’ll see you soon,” Trilla promises, pulling her pants up. They cling to her damp skin, but no matter. A trivial consequence that can be dealt with. “As soon as you find what I need, of course.”

“There are some things you can’t take from me, you know.”

She stops, just having pulled her uniform over her shoulders. She turns, seeing him still in the pool, looking deliciously wrecked. The bite she made on his shoulder is stained red, his lips swollen and hair mussed, cheeks and chest flushed. If he turned around, no doubt she’d see the scratches she made in that beautiful pale skin.

But it’s the way he’s looking at her that makes her stop, the chest of her uniform still open, his gaze holding hers instead of looking to her breasts like a simple man would.

He’s a quick learner.

She just didn’t think he’d learn her.

“We’ll see about that,” she taunts, securing the front of her uniform shut against her bare skin.

She leaves him almost as she found him. Bare, standing in the middle of the pool, with a few more marks and a lot to consider.

Her clothes will smell of the flora of the planet hours after they’ve both left it and are on their way to the next destination.


End file.
